


Cat Outta Hell

by Ravenshell



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Luck, Black Cat - Freeform, Cults, Sacrifices, cat knives, satanic cult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenshell/pseuds/Ravenshell
Summary: An oily, black Klunk makes a poor choice of sacrifice for a Satanic cult.Written for the 13 Day of Horror on devArt.  Day 6's prompt: Black Cat
Kudos: 6





	Cat Outta Hell

He was outside the lair, hunting mice, a pastime which wasn’t exactly appreciated given their relation to one of the large creatures residing in the same living space. Normally, he would stay in the sewers, where there was plenty of prey. Going topside tended to worry the green man with the stripe that matched Klunk’s fur, so usually he stayed within his carefully marked territory. This one troublesome mouse, though, kept eluding his claws, and in a bid for escape, knocked over a can of something inky black and sticky, which landed a perfect bullseye on the cat, coating him from nose to tail.

 _Ugh!_ was his primal reaction, and he abandoned his prey to attempt cleaning. He shook his head the moment his tongue touched his paw. Lick-grooming wasn’t going to be the solution, so he clambered up a stack of debris and exited the sewers through a storm grate. A good roll in some grass ought to get rid of the gunk!

After a short walk, he managed to find a patch and tried to rub the goop off. It didn’t seem to want to rub off either, no matter how he rolled and twisted. He gave a resigned snort. Perhaps a roll in one of the green men’s bedding would wear the stuff off. The purple-striped one used his rarely and already smelled somewhat of the substance; maybe he wouldn’t notice…

…and that was when a net came down over him. “Gotcha!” the human wielding it stated as he scooped Klunk up with the netting. The cat let out a displeased yowl, dangling belly-up. “There’s a good black kitty-kitty!” He was transferred into a bag of some sort, which cinched closed, sealing him in relative darkness. He was still distressed about this state of affairs, but as nothing was currently coming to attack him, he settled, waiting.

“You’re late, Donovan! Did you get the sacrifice?”

“Yeah, right here,” the young man said, hefting the sack, which uttered a displeased growl.

“Fine. Get into your robe so we can start. Carl, you done inscribing the pentagram yet?”

“In a second, these markings are complicated.”

“Well, hurry it up! It’s almost midnight!”

“Shouldn’t we technically be performing this ritual at 3 a.m., Justin?”

The officiant sighed as he lit a pair of black candles at either side of the altar and lay a silver dagger and a goblet upon it. “Technically, but I’ve got a test tomorrow, so I need to get to bed early. Hoods up! Let’s get started…”

The three of them chanted for a few minutes, and then the one that talked the most yammered about inviting someone called Satan to be with them, but as far as Klunk could tell, no one joined them. He went on for some time, during which the other two cultists occasionally echoed his words. 

“Bring forth the sacrifice!”

The bag opened and a hand came in at him, trying to grab him. He spat at the intruder, and out came the cat-knives.

“Fuck!!” the leader swore, withdrawing his hand and shaking it. “Carl, you get him!”

“Why me?”

“Because I said so!”

“Try grabbing it by the scruff of the neck,” Donovan suggested. “Hurry up, though, he’s moving around a lot…”

The second boy tried to pick him up by the neck, and Klunk screamed at him, flattening his ears to his skull.

“Ugh! What did you do, get this thing out of a dumpster?! It’s all nasty and—” The cat twisted in his grip, slipping free, dropping to the floor. “—dammit! The freakin’ thing’s covered in oil or somethin’! I don’t even think it’s even black!”

“Whatever! Grab it!” Six hands came at him, and he wasn’t about to let himself be grabbed again. Klunk dashed out of the way, under the ankle of one of them, who yelped and fell on one of his comrades. There were few places to hide in the small room, so his best option was to jump up to the table, where his momentum pushed the cloth covering it into a wrinkled pile and tipped one of the candles off as Justin made a swipe for him. Donovan yelled as he realized his polyester robe caught fire from the rolling candle and was busied trying to stamp it out.

“C’mere, cat!” the one called Carl tried, and Klunk sprang to the goat’s skull hanging on the wall behind the altar. His kick sent the silver dagger off the edge of the table, where it struck point-down into Carl’s cheap canvas shoe. The skull swung, and he had to immediately leap off again as it fell to the floor, one of the curved horns shattering on impact. 

Now on the floor and under the table, he spotted the white markings and wondered if they would help in rolling the hideous stuff off him. Well, one short rub on the floor didn’t do it, and made Carl holler more about his destroyed work.

“Somebody get that ca—AAAHH!” Justin cried as he ran for Klunk and his foot went out from under him in Klunk’s resultant oil slick. He crashed headlong into Donovan, and the two of them, completely off-balance, hit and broke through the cheap pasteboard door, allowing Klunk the chance to hop over their backs and through the hole to freedom. Disoriented, he bumped a ladder as he fled, which fell across the door and broke the 7 off the 713 house number and blocked the youngsters as they all tried to clamber after the greased feline, one of them stumbling into two all-night movers and causing them to drop the large mirror they were ferrying out of a van. The resultant crash showered his pursuers with shards of glass, and at that point, they gave up the chase, dejected, letting the slippery cat go on its merry way.  
  


“Mew,” he said plaintively to his master as he hopped up on the kitchen counter to get the green man’s attention.

“Klunk?” Mikey responded, setting down the hot pan in his mitted hands. “What happened?! You’re a mess!”

Klunk already knew this, of course. He looked piteously at Michelangelo for assistance.

Mikey sighed. “Dinner’s gonna be a little delayed, guys. I gotta give Klunk an emergency bath!”

The b-a-t-h word triggered something displeasing in him. He put his ears back and readied the cat-knives again.


End file.
